Her expression bounces rapidly between shock and disbelief, before her lips curl into a sneer.“That bitch… that skeevy little thief. I told you she was a spider, Lore. Worse than Irene. It’s why Jack—”
Charlotte halts mid-thought, her mental stream cutting off.“Wait a damn minute,”she texts.“Since when are you and Edmund friends?”
“We’re not.”
“Then why the hell did you fork over something as priceless as the Hellion?”
I manage a stiff shrug.“It’s not priceless to me.”
“Well, it is to him—and not just because it belonged to his grandfather. Back when Jack and I were together, he and Edmund wouldn’t shut up about the Vanguards. They were always talking about how they wished the program still existed and how they’d do anything to be part of it. Sometimes I got the feeling they wanted the shield to be attacked again so they’d have a shot at glory.”
I give Charlotte’s text a quick once-over, barely registering the meaning. After what just happened, I don’t give a shit about Edmund or his dead dream.
“I want to go somewhere without any blue,”I tell her, clutching the torn, dirty hem of my dress as we hurry across the parking lot.
“If that’s the case, we’re gonna have to walk home,”Charlotte replies.
I turn, step over a snowdrift, then glare.
Edmund.
He’s here, leaning on my hovercar, calm despite his cruelty. His footsteps have carved deep grooves in the snow, dark veins stretching across the ground as if he’s been out here searching for me for hours. Snow melts on him, soaking into his hair, his pressed tailcoat, and his polished shoes.
He looks like a crown left in the gutter.
“How do you wish to proceed, Miss Waldsten?” Charlotte asks, aloud.
I step forward so abruptly that she sucks in a breath.
“Very well. I shall… go enjoy a cigarette.” She slings her handbag over her shoulder and sidesteps between two hovercars.
The Blues’ voices behind me fade out. So does the rumble of idling hovercars. The world around me stills as I walk forward, trying to hold myself together, but the sight of Edmund standing there—calm after what he did to me—hits me like a spark to airborne propane. My pain flares back to life, and my steps quicken, fueled by a force that tears down my formal posture. My heels click to a stop in front of him.
Edmund opens his mouth, but I cut in.
“So, that’s how you treat people who give you gifts? Like the gifts were already yours?” My voice cracks. “Why, Edmund? Why the hell did you do that to me?”
The ticking of falling civil credits echoes in my ears, but all I hear is my pounding heartbeat. “Youknewthe Hellion was mine. You knew Rosamund stole it from me. How could you sit by and let—”
“Think about it, Miss Waldsten.” Edmund leans in, close enough that his saber hilt presses against my hip. “You stand up in front of everyone and call my sister—a high-citizen—a thief. What happens next?”
I rise to fire back, but my words catch in a sudden rush of images: the accusation in front of witnesses, with Rosamund’s own brother standing there. It wouldn’t just be about the badge anymore. It would be about honor and defending the family name.
“That’s right—a death duel,” Edmund says, pushing off the hovercar. “And not the sort you’d walk away from. You don’t fence or even carry a saber. That means you’d last about as long as the first cut. Rosamund would gut you for the whole Tangerine Tree to see, and when you’re lying in thesnow, choking on your own blood, will the badge still matter? Is that what you want to die for, Miss Waldsten?”
I lift my chin higher. “No.”
“That’s what I thought.” He drags his arm across his face to brush off the snow, his expression marred by frustration. “Look, I don’t know what the hell my sister’s got against you, but it ends today.”
“So, you’ve talked to her, then? Told her you know the badge is mine?”
“No. Not yet.” Edmund pauses, his jaw tight, as if trying to work the harshness from his tone. “I will. But first…” His eyes come back to me, softer now. “I wanted to thank you.”
I want him to thank me, too. But after how he acted, I’m not about to make the moment easy. My anger hasn’t gone anywhere, and it’s only growing fiercer the more his eyes soften. I brace myself against his stare, even as it presses warmly against my fury, like sunlight slipping through a window onto winter skin. This soft expression suits him better than the irritation, the anger that’s almost always there, weighing him down like a stumbling ox. Why that side of him always wins out, I don’t know, because the gentle one is stronger.
I push my hands into my coat pockets. “If you really mean it, say it. Spell it out, like you made me do on your balcony.”
Edmund’s eyes narrow, hesitation flickering before he lets out a quiet laugh. “All right, then.” He steps closer and lowers himself to my eye level. “Your gift, Miss Waldsten. I’m grateful for it. More than you probably guessed when you gave it.”
